STOP COPYING ME

I’ve always been preoccupied by the notion of copying. I can’t blame being a middle child for all my flaws, but here we are. And it’s not unrelated. Can’t be. If you are the third of four girls - and because of the gaps, the truest middle, then certain personality traits are beyond your control (for proof it goes: Gemma: 1983, Beth: 1989, Me: 1991 and Kate 1994.) Proof. Not to mention being a double cancer (read: we are comfy with envy, claws and possession.) 

Beth was one school year ahead of me, and excelling at all times. The kind of child who lit up school reports with words like gifted and who had the reading age of an Oxford graduate at the age of 8. Anyway the thing is I was always quite bright too, managed to cover up not comprehending much with a way with words in essays I submitted. But I wasn’t like Beth, the prodigal son was not me. At primary school Mary came with all these brass and woodwind instruments and it was very much *the thing* to pick one. Beth started learning the flute and I marched behind her waging a one-woman campaign to get one too. My parents obviously understood something about me that I was yet to learn and were reluctant. But eventually my campaign paid off, I got the flute. I trailed behind and showed no natural potential then dramatically quit upon realising I would never be as good as Beth. 

When Kate was a toddler she had a lot of opinions. She was gifted with the face of an angel and a head of ice cream blonde hair, and in my humble opinion the family orbited around her. Loud tantrums punctuated walks and dictated events. I remember the feeling so clearly, when she got her own way YET AGAIN READER, of saying to mum, you’re going to regret this, you’re going to regret creating this monster. Anyway, I don’t think they do because she’s grown into a human to be proud of. But nonetheless my points remain. 

Gemma had a purple bedroom, a complete guide to sex on her bookshelves and smelt of the Body Shop. She was everything I wanted to be when I grew up and she helped me grow up into the precocious young teen I was. Listen, I watched Sex and the City before I knew what a blow job was and imagined all her 18 year old friends had a crush on her 10 year old sister (me). 

A lot of my childhood was about finding things that could be mine. It 100% accounts for my passion for horses in a family that had no such links to horse world or culture. Horses were everything to me as the brick outside the backdoor reminds me everything I go home. AR 4 Horses 4ever 2004. It’s also my entire personality, Mary Mary quite contrary was written about me and I still won’t commit to a family event until the week before and I’m pretty sure they have a more active WhatsApp group without me. This is the crux of my problematic-ness: appear disinterested and unengaged so they plan life without me, decline the invite, become filled with wild rage and jealousy when it goes ahead without me. The WhatsApp pictures of their children merrily playing on Easter, summer and Christmas holidays can ruin my mood. But I want to see the pictures and I zoom into all their faces because I love them so much, but I’m still left out and left behind. 

To deal with the outsider feelings, I’ve made and paved my own chaotic way. I genuinely think it’s why I couldn’t be employed.

Anyway, when I was about 21 I used to wear denim hot pants over tights to work. Hang on, maybe that’s why I couldn’t be employed. Regardless, it was my thing. One fateful day my best friend, peer and rival (all were true) arrived at work sporting hot pants over tights. I still feel thick rage in my guts when I remember. And there was nothing I could do because you can’t yell STOP COPYING ME at work because of denim and nylon. 

But this feeling, boy oh boy this feeling don’t I know it. 

Now I’m not saying I’m an influencer of concepts and ideas, but I’m not not saying that. I’m pretty sure I have the kind of energy that some people adore/would die to protect and some people cannot bear. Smiley face. I even quite enjoy walking around thinking, oh she hates me. It’s flattering. 

I got into running when I was 19, what began as a toxic quest to get thin a) didn’t work because hehe guess what running doesn’t make you thin, and b) became a life changing part of my identity. I was a runner, I was spiritually a runner, the books about it spoke to my soul and I couldn’t imagine who I would be if I wasn’t running. Now, I do still run but it’s a bit different to how it used to define me. I do however still find it hard when peers of mine get into running not to say I WAS A RUNNER BEFORE YOU AND YOU WILL NEVER BEAT ME SPIRITUALLY AS A RUNNER OK. 

Out of nowhere all my sisters started running last year, I was in a fragile space post everything that happened and I wasn’t really running. They all connected on Strava and I sometimes wanted to throw my phone in the canal at the thought of them all on their runs. Honestly I’m getting hot typing about it. I then briefly got Strava as I started running again but had to delete it due to almost killing myself because my lungs were burning so much whilst trying not to let Kate beat me because guess what guys, she was faster. 

Anyway you should also know:

• I got my nose pierced before you 

• I was into yoga first 

• I invented this witty colloquial tone of writing 

• I decided it was cooler not to be preoccupied by what you eat before you did 

• Sex and the City and Girls means the most to me

• I’m the only girl who likes the Strokes 

Ok? 

Anyway, no matter how hard I try I don’t find imitation flattering, I find it illegal. And sometimes I find myself reading others Substacks thinking IT WAS MY IDEA FIRST. And if you are one of my dear friends who has a Substack, don’t worry I’m not being horrible and it’s not just about you, smiley face. 

It’s funny, I can understand why I am the way I am and a certain amount of self awareness takes the edge off. I heard a clip of Elizabeth Gilbert saying, the most peaceful people embrace every part of themselves. And I thought, you know what I am petty and unreasonable sometimes. Tom is the first boyfriend I’ve had who doesn’t think it’s a big deal that I can be jealous. It has been so profoundly UN-SHAMED that it doesn’t feel bad anymore. 

When I had therapy for a while three years ago I loved nothing more than being so self aware and articulate that I could package everything up for her like a dog bringing a dead bird to their owner. I explained everything fully so there was absolutely no room for true vulnerability. It was like I wanted to be the goodest student and get it right. (How tedious for Jerilee). It was like, there are no cracks or surprises here, I know it already. Anyway, suddenly and slowly I feel so much more interested in not being good. In not handling all situations and conflicts perfectly. And in allowing my whiney voice to say to Tom and Andy, can I just turn the radio down and talk to you for 15 minutes about how I think she’s copying me?